


The Dadframe Collection

by SpaceyBot



Category: Warframe
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Operator, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Snippets, Spoilers, ft. Ordis in a wyrm sentinel body, more characters will be added, ongoing work with no end in sight, references to cinematic quests, title will probably change in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceyBot/pseuds/SpaceyBot
Summary: The Operator finds little moments throughout the chaos to be with the ones who matter the most.(A collection of unrelated and mostly fluffy one-shots that feature the Operator bonding with various space dads. Updates irregularly. All fics pulled from my tumblr @mtmte-headcanons)





	1. Eels of Eidolon

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary:
> 
> Umbra and The Operator grow closer with each other over charc eels on the Plains of Eidolon, where Umbra’s space dad tendencies begin to show up.

 

 

The Operator longs for death, or at the very least, another few hundred years of sleep.

They had spent the past three days carrying out bounty after bounty for Konzu. In fact, the last place they wanted to be was in the Plains of Eidolon. And yet here they were. Again. Sitting on the edges off Gara Toht Lake.

It’s not their fault that they had no Pyrol to sacrifice to the Ostrons. If time were a valued sacrifice, the Operator is sure that they’d already be regarded as kin.

They sigh deeper than they thought possible. It catches Umbra’s attention.

They had brought him along in an attempt to keep both of their minds busy. The dull, repetitive tasks were enough to distract them from the pain of everything they’ve been through together. The Operator would gladly work if it meant forgetting what had happened with Isaah, with Ballas, and with…

Lotus.

They shake their head, as if it would loosen the memory from their thoughts. This break has been going on long enough. They begin to rise from their meditative position. They have work to do. They have to—

Umbra crouches down suddenly, somehow at the Operator’s side in a flash. He puts a hand on their shoulder and there is a distinct sense of urgency in his grip.

“Umbra? What is it?” They say, alarm flooding throughout their body.

Umbra points at the waters. The Operator follows the direction of his finger. And then they see it: a quick flash of scales catching the light, a ripple of water.

A charc eel.

“Oh.” They mutter. Wait.

Fish scales! They were part of the sacrifice that Konzu required.

The Operator throws Umbra a grateful look, scrambling to get out the fishing spear. They pause. It feels different when it’s in their own hands and not their warframe’s. But they had been controlling the frames all this time. The motions were their own. It should be simple enough.

They position it above their head, reeling back in preparation. The eel slithers in the water, disappearing under the green sprouts and leafy pads before popping its head back out. Now. This is their chance.

The Operator takes a shot, slamming the line into the water with all their strength. There is a large splash of water and…a charc eel swimming away in a blind panic, away from the scene of attempted murder. They had missed.

They mutter a quiet curse under their breath, shoulders dropping in defeat. The line is mockingly light-weight when they reel it back in onto the bank. The Operator glances upward at Umbra.

His face is a picture of utter disappointment and disbelief.

And it’s not even a visible face, at that. They didn’t even know that that black, gold-lined mask was capable of this amount of mockery, from the slight tilt of his helm to the way his chin was pointed downward. His arms, instead of being stoically folded across his chest had come to hang limply at his sides. They had gone and broken him.

The Operator has never been more upset that none of their frames, not even Umbra, could speak. It would have been more tolerable to hear them all taunt them, calling them the Void demon, slayer of sentients, bane of the Grineer Queens, and the utter plaything of fish. The charc eels laugh at their incompetence.

But no. They had to settle for silent judgment and the knowledge that Umbra would forever know of the time that his powerful Operator failed to kill a little lake snake.

“It was _tiny_.” They argue, holding up two fingers in a rough estimate, just for emphasis. And there it is. Umbra’s signature arm fold. That sad, sympathetic, but vaguely disapproving look. He finally extends one arm, gesturing to the spear. With an irritated growl, the Operator surrenders the apparatus.

He takes his sweet time, and the Operator swears it’s mostly for show. The way he tracks the next charc eel that comes along is obscenely elegant. He is perfectly poised, ready to strike. Umbra, or rather the Dax soldier that he had been before, clearly had experience with spear fishing. Perhaps he had taken his children to fish on days where he was not duty bound. The Operator scoffs lightly at him, only to be completely ignored.

When he finally plunges the spear into the water, it travels in a strictly straight line. His aim is true. Pulling in the spear, the waters gradually reveal a decently sized charc eel pierced on the weapon’s deadly blade. It bounces and desperately tries to slip off of the sharp metal and out of his grasp, but nothing escapes Umbra. He holds it firmly. Umbra’s gaze flickers from his prize to his Operator. The Operator feel a tug at the corner of their lips but fails to suppress it. The smile breaks out onto their face. They roll their eyes, offering Umbra half-hearted applause for his accomplishment.

Umbra quickly kills the creature, setting it on the ground. The Operator is almost surprised when he extends his hand, offering the Operator the spear once more. They were too busy observing Umbra’s clean kill. They slowly take the spear from him. Did they really want to risk getting “the look” again? Whatever. They needed the fish.

The Operator summons to mind the way Umbra had held his spear, mimicking the pose as closely as possible. They can faintly feel Umbra lifting their throwing arm a bit, pushing it up by their elbow, adjusting their stance. It’s the Operator’s turn to give Umbra a look. Umbra is not the least bit intimidated.

“Thanks.” They say, only half serious, once Umbra is finished. They take a deep breath, holding it for as long as they can.

There is a flash of silver.

They strike at the water, the spear flying out of their grasp at lightning speed. When the spear returns to their hands, it brings a large, wriggling charc eel with it. The feeling it stirs within the Operator is strange. They can’t remember the last time they had felt so stupidly _giddy_ over something so trivial. They laugh, struggling to contain their catch in their small arms.

A hand comes to rest on their head, cutting their laughter short. They look up.

Umbra. Umbra is smoothing out their hair, an affectionate but faraway aura to his stance. The grin fades quickly, until the Operator’s mouth is but a thin, solemn line. He must be…remembering. After all they had done–all they were doing– to forget. Or did he know exactly what he was doing?

They let Umbra have the moment, releasing the breath that they had been holding and letting their eyelids fly shut. The Operator smiles.

“Come on. We have more work to do.”


	2. The Day You Returned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ordis tries to celebrate the Operator’s birthday, or at least as close to a birthday as you could get. Meanwhile, the Operator learns that they’re bad at receiving affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an Ordis chapter, hope you enjoy it!

“Operator, do you know what day it is?” 

They blink a few times at nothing in particular. Were they supposed to be keeping track of how many cycles had passed? How many precious seconds they’ve used up since awakening? In the transference seat, the Operator makes a vague noise. Their warframe echoes it, processing their tired voice through a filter.

“No, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Correct! Today is the day that the Lotus roused you from cryosleep back on earth.” He continues. “The day that you returned to me. All according to the Orokin calendar, of course. Ordis has been calculating since then.”

The frame that the Operator is possessing sets the newly crafted Boltor down on the foundry table. Only Ordis would keep track of such things. An amused smile breaks out onto their face, hidden away by the enclosure of their transference device.

“That’s nice, Ordis.”

They try to leave it at that, their fingers reaching out to grasp their new weapon once more.

“Since you do not remember the date you were born, perhaps this would be a suitable alternative?”

There is a moment of silence. Ordis already knows what the Operator is thinking. He refuses to back down.

“What, you mean like a birthday?” They scoff. “Thanks, but birthdays have long since lost their meaning to me.”

They feel a heaviness drop in their throat. Maybe they would remember it one day. Anxiety crawls into their stomach at that possibility. It wouldn’t be a fond memory, not because they were bitter or angry dreams. No, It would bring back ghosts of their parents, and too many questions with not enough answers. They didn’t have time to reminisce.

“I know. But not to me. Your existence is a special thing, and it should be commemorated!” He insists. “Did you know it was traditional to play a song for the–”

“Please, I’m begging you, no more playing music.” They interrupt with a shudder. They had a somachord now and that was enough. That, and they already had one music loving Cephalon. Ordis makes a little huff, clearing his thoughts, trying to slow down his words.

“What I’m trying to tell you, Operator, is that I’m glad you’re here.” He murmurs. “And I wanted you to have something. A gift, if you will.”

The Operator is stunned, and…touched? They are still unaccustomed to such blatant fondness. It was almost too much. In fact, if they really wanted to they could probably cry right here, right now. Not that they would ever.

But a gift? A gift that they didn’t have to work for? Perhaps it would be a practical gift, one that they could use out on the field. They’d certainly feel less guilty if that were the case. It would be like any other person granting them a new tool. And yet the Operator knew how Ordis adored them. He would try to gift them something special, sentimental.

Suddenly, there is a loud crash from somewhere inside the Lishet. They grab the Boltor from its resting place, instinctively crouching down to a prepared and almost feral position, a finger poised to press the trigger. 

“Apologies, it’s just me.” Ordis reassures, his voice resounding throughout the ship. As if on cue, a wyrm sentinel comes zipping out towards the central area of the ship, right where they are standing. Its tail is wound tight over a small box. The Operator makes a strained, wounded noise upon seeing the case.

“You spoil me, you know that? You really shouldn’t have.” They mutter, quickly getting overwhelmed.

“ ** _－Too late!－_**  It’s already done.” Ordis replies. When he speaks the lights of the wyrm flare up, the brightness near blinding. It’s as if his excitement is overloading the sentinel. “You will have to come here though, in person, I mean.”

“But－”

“ ** _－It’s 35 meters, Operator, you can handle the walk to here－_** ” His voice glitches out, but even grumpy Ordis hasn’t lost the urgent and eager tone. “Hurry.”

They groan. They were barely used to walking around in person, training themselves to grow comfortable in their own skin again by cutting the transference link every so often during missions and breaks. It felt wrong, everything was too sensitive, from the nerves in their fingertips to the ground pushing against their weak feet.

The Operator slowly emerges from their den, trudging up the small slope past the void relics. They playfully narrow their eyes at the wyrm and their paralyzed warframe. Ordis shutters the lights of the wyrm’s single eye in response, mimicking the Operator’s expression. Two can play at that game.

The wyrm gingerly places the box on the Operator’s open palm, pushing their whole hand closer to their body in an attempt to get them to open the box a bit quicker. The Operator chuckles, swatting the sentinel away.

“Alright, alright.” They say. It backs off, floating closer to the stone-still warframe.

They carefully flip the lid open. Resting on a soft cushion are a pair of ear ornaments. Cuffs that were clearly designed by a Cephalon and meant to encircle the shell of their ear. The golden metal caught the wyrm’s eye lights, reflecting a bit of brightness. The Operator glances at the ornaments and then back the wyrm, at a loss for words. Their mouth opens and closes several times in an attempt to get some questions out but nothing really comes out.

“How did you get these?” They are finally able to ask.

“I have connections.” Ordis replies, conspiratorially. The Operator throws them a highly skeptical look. “A joke, Operator. I made them in the ship’s foundry while you were away.”

“Ah, so that’s where my materials went. You used them.”

“ ** _－Yes－_** ” Ordis makes a noise laced with static, in lieu of clearing his throat. “Perhaps.”

They don’t even want to take it out its box. It was too precious, too fragile. But the way the wyrm stills in anticipation as if time had stopped spurs them on. They push their hair away, tucking the strands behind their ear before clipping the cuff into place and repeating it on the other side.

“How do I look? Nice?” They make a sweeping gesture toward their new accessories.

“Perfect, as always!” Ordis is practically beaming. “Do you like them?”

“Of course I like them, Ordis.” They laugh, sincerity entangled in their words. “Thank you. I really mean it. I’m sorry for always…”

They trail off, the sentence dying on the tip of their tongue. There is much to apologize for.  Ordis saves them from finishing. He already knows.

“I don’t think I’ve said it aloud before but,” Ordis’ voice grows softer, gentler. “I love you, Operator.”

They have no doubt in their mind that they’d be lost without him as well. They cared for him. Showing it was a very different story. But today, it seemed easy, as if the words were there all along, finally waiting for the day that they’d be heard by someone who needs to hear it. The Operator grins, using all of their will power to prevent themselves from either choking up or laughing out loud. Or both at the same time.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always imagine Ordis in a wyrm body thanks to the war within quest.
> 
> Who should I write next...? :/


	3. A Tenno's (New) Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Business may be a soft soul, but the fur of a Virmink is a lot softer. The Operator finds out for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Us PS4 players just got Fortuna but I already love Biz, Ticker, and Eudico. You can't stop me from writing sappy little fics about them even though I met them literally a few days ago. They're so WHOLESOME.

The Business is no stranger to odd situations, or eccentric personalities. But this particular Tenno was something else to be sure.

When he had done his part in summoning them all to Fortuna he wasn’t sure how it’d play out. He had hoped for the best, but prepared for the worst. After all, he only had vague ideas of what the proud warriors were like. Looking back it was just that, that kept him going. Hope. 

It paid off. Because somehow the Solaris United had stumbled upon one of their rank’s most competent and…complicated.

They were a good kid and he knew it. He had seen their heart, their dedication in helping the Solaris rebuild the SU, as if they had as much to lose as the people of Fortuna did. Whenever they showed up, a hard but meaningful day’s work of tending to the Orb Vallis’ creatures followed him. They brought in enough tags and creatures to keep him busy for hours. He had a theory that the handmade toys had a part in their “vigor” for conservation.

Nonetheless, Biz had told them at one point to slow down. Not that the work was too much for  _him,_  no, he was concerned for the child. He and the Solaris appreciated their efforts, but one could only do so much. One could only  _take_  so much. If there was one person who deserved a rest, it was the kid.

And yet here they are, five feet in front of him. Holding a large servo fish in their arms. Stars, were they fishing out there? At this hour?

“It’s awfully late, my friend. You should be resting.”

It’s as if they were only able to operate at night. People were finishing the day’s work, scurrying home to recuperate before it all begins again. But not them. The work never ends for them.

The Tenno steps forward out of the dark and into the dingy lighting of The Business’ corner. Their warframe is bathed in a warm light. He sighs. They had a habit of showing up when no one else was around and lurking around in the dark.

The Operator bows in greeting, but otherwise remains silent. Without much fanfare, they make a beeline to a table to begin dismantling their catch. It’s only when they hear a strange, but familiar and nasally call, along with scratching noises, do they stop in their tracks.

A Virmink? 

Biz casually glances down to find the white-breasted Virmink pawing at his leg, no doubt seeking attention. He easily obliges, bending down to scoop up the creature in his arms.

“What is it now, sweet thing? You’d like to be picked up?” He coos, rubbing its fur. He barely stops himself in time before it got out of hand. Little Duck was right, he notes grimly. He really does do that out loud, and frequently at that. He returns his attention to the Tenno, who somehow is giving him an dumbfounded look despite their warframe’s lack of facial features.

Biz clears his throat.

“This one was quite injured when you brought her to me.” He explains. “She’s recovering, but adamantly refuses to be alone.” He can still recall her cries and ceaseless pandering for attention. Nearly broke his heart. He knew not to make a habit of it, but seeing how placid this one was, he caved:  

“I’ve had her by my side the whole day.”

The Operator, almost timidly, looks at him, as if asking for permission to approach. Biz chuckles.

“Yes, yes, come and say hello to her. She’s a very good girl.”

The Operator all but abandons the servofish on the dismantling table, slowly approaching the duo. They hold a hand up, allowing its odd nose to touch and sniff at it. The recent memory comes flooding back into their recollection.

“I…remember you.” They say, fondly. “First one I’ve seen that wasn’t a trouble maker.”

They faintly recall Biz saying that the tame ones were popular pets. But, then again they could also recall seeing them aggressively hunting Pobbers out in the wild. Some had growled and hissed at them when they approached to collect them after tranquilization. Even with the drugs taking effect, they used their fading strength to make angry faces at them. It would work if it weren’t so cute, the Operator notes.

They stroke the animal gently along its back, starting from the head.

“She’s quite soft, isn’t she?” Biz says. The Operator makes a vague noise.

“Probably. I can’t feel it, though. The warframes don’t allow much in the way of tactile perception.”  

They could come out for a little…just to touch the Virmink. It wouldn’t hurt. The thought is tempting. There is a long stretch of silence before either one speaks again.

“No one else is around, if that’s your concern. Only you.” Biz reassures. The Operator wonders if he’s truly reading their mind. But Biz is simply observant. He’s picked up on the fact that the Tenno were more private about their true forms, rarely choosing to walk around as such.

“It’s your choice.” He leaves them with that. Another pause descends on them.

“How soft  _is_  she?” They finally question, whispering like it’s a secret. Biz plays along, whispering back to them as if he were passing along information about the SU, straight from Eudico herself.

“ _Very_.”

The Operator gives a defeated sigh and takes a step back. In a burst of void energy and color, they transfer out of their frame. The cold hits them instantly and they make a face to show for it. They are endearingly expressive in their true forms, Biz notices. It’s like they forget that everyone else can see their emotions now.

He’s only seen them out of their frame a few times, in the back room. And every time he does, he’s reminded that they’re a child, a teenanger at most. It’s always the children fighting everyone’s wars. If not now, then eventually. He thinks of it often.

“I’ll let you hold her.”  He offers. Normally he wouldn’t, but they’re a good friend and he trusts them to be careful. It’d be okay.

“No, what if I drop her?” The Operator replies, rather quickly. What if she doesn’t like them? Biz laughs at their concern.

“You won’t. I promise. I’m right here.”

With that, he leans down (they’re so much smaller in their true forms) and carefully allows the Virmink to slide over into the Tenno’s arms. The Virmink, happy with this arrangement, quickly cuddles into the new source of warmth. The Business watches their eyes light up at the affection. With both arms occupied with supporting the weight of the creature, they settle for laying their face against its fur.

“Oh, my. You were right.” They say. Their face is breaking out in a stupid, awful grin. They burrow their face deeper into its fur in an attempt to hide it. The Virmink tolerates it for a few moments before it starts getting uncomfortable and shifts its position. The Operator accommodates it best as they can, but it’s half of their size and heavy at that.

Biz’s hands hover nearby in case the Virmink slips out, but slowly and eventually he withdraws them, returning them to their usual position. When he sees the Tenno holding onto the large Virmink with that look on their face, a quiet laugh escapes him. It  _does not_  escape the Operator.

“What.” They say. It’s not a question.

“The Virmink is almost as big as you are, that’s all.”

“I’m not  _that_  small.” The Operator replies, half-jokingly.

“I didn’t say you were.” Biz says in return, with a cool air about him.

He leaves them at that, letting them play with the creature. Biz heads over to dismantle the servofish they had forgotten on the table. He throws a few glances over his shoulder once in a while, catches them making quiet kissing noises at the Virmink, to which they deny making. It doesn’t take too long to finish the job.

When he’s done, the Operator sadly gets up from their kneeling position on the floor. The Virmink watches them rise. All three sense that it’s time to go home. The day is done. But still their fingers linger just a moment on the creature’s snow white fur. 

It’s impossibly soft.

Another flash of color and energy, and the Operator is one with their warframe again.

“We will both be here when you return. Go home and rest, my friend.” He hands them the parts from the broken down servofish and claps them once on the shoulder before turning to tidy up the table: his final task before he returns home himself.

The Operator makes eye contact with the Virmink as they leave.

“ _Psst, hey come home with me, come on._ ” They whisper, playfully beckoning for the creature to follow.

“I can hear you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would die for Biz. 
> 
> (Another Umbra one-shot is in the works, but it may still be a while before that one is posted. Sorry about that! And thanks for reading, as always! I appreciate you all!!)


	4. In Memory of a Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humming is a good way to distract yourself and pass the time, if only for a little. So Umbra and the Operator remember a song, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Twist! This actually isn't a Christmas / Tennobaum related chapter.

At first it’s only a few notes that come tumbling out of their throat, and into the atmosphere. After that it’s too late.

They’re already long gone. Sometimes, they find themselves humming the Ostron melodies that quietly slept within their memory. Other times, they're mimicking the song the Solaris sing, just to make a day’s work go by a little faster. But quite often, they don’t even know the name of the tune that they’re bringing life to. It’s simply there, on the tip of their tongue.  

It's little moments like this, when they were all alone and there was nothing left to tend to, that were the easiest to lose themselves to simple noise. In and out of their true form, day or night, it didn’t really matter. They slip into the habit far more often than they’d care to admit. Especially since they weren’t really alone. Not with Ordis around.

Ordis had chimed in the first time he’d caught the Operator absently humming away their worries. He had laughed, softly, as if it’d lessen the mortification they felt. They’ve never heard a Cephalon truly laugh before, not even Ordis.

“How lovely.” He had said. “You are too precious, Operator.”

Their warframe hid all evidence of embarrassment, but it didn’t stop the Operator from feeling the heat rise to their own face. Why should they even care? They’ve done a lot of things. They’ve  _killed_  people before. Why was it so humiliating to get caught humming their heart out? Maybe it made them feel childish, getting called out like that. Maybe they just didn’t want anybody to realize how unsophisticated and off-key they always were. If only they weren’t so easy to get a rise out of.

They had joked their shame away of course. Since then Ordis has never really mentioned it again. But they know he still hears it when they sing and hum within the ship’s walls. They’ve reached a peaceful arrangement. The Operator supposes that it’s okay if Ordis hears them. It’s just Ordis.

But sometimes they forget it’s  _not_  just Ordis who listens and hears. They’ve been adjusting to the presence of another body onboard. Perhaps they’ve adjusted too well. They don’t even notice Umbra standing close behind, a respectful distance away from where they’re currently meditating. It really only hits them when they recognize that that black shape caught in the glass’ reflection is in fact another warframe, and not a hallucination. They’ve been learning to ignore those.   

Umbra stands and watches intently, donning a relaxed posture in contrast to the feral one they first saw him with. The humming stops abruptly. The Operator still has their back towards Umbra, sitting criss-crossed in front of the observation window.

Great. Perfect. Umbra had heard them. Their most solemn, dignified, and strong warframe had heard. Fate acts like they don’t  _already_  embarrass themselves in front of Umbra regularly. It’s why it always puts them in situations like these. They barely keep themselves from groaning in misery. 

The awkwardness starts to kick in slowly, painfully, just to maximize the intensity of their embarrassment. Umbra and the Operator both know what the other had witnessed.

Keeping their eyes glued out of the window, the Operator mumbles under their breath.

“Ordis.”

“Yes?” He responds, as dutiful as ever.

“Could you please open the airlock so that I could forcibly throw myself out of it? Thanks.”  

Ordis,  _somehow_ , is now getting somewhat used to their little jokes. He’s been learning to humor his Operator rather than respond with “the world is about to end” levels of concern. Does it stop him from being worried? No. Baby steps.

“A-As...you wish, Operator. Done.” He plays along as convincingly as he can. The airlock stays closed. Umbra remains unfazed. The quiet swallows them both whole.

“Sorry, Umbra. Was there something you needed?” They ask, voice even.

Silence. Umbra slowly makes his way over to the Operator’s spot and kneels beside them, adopting the same stance. They appear as one and the same. The Operator doesn’t miss the way he subtly looks over at them, despite having his body face the window.  Oh.

He’s asking to meditate together. It’s been a while, to say the least.

They had established the habit some time ago, but almost every session they’ve had since then went awry. The Operator pauses. Perhaps awry was too strong of a word. Sometimes they asked to stop,  for fear of seeing his old memories and unintentionally wrenching them back to the surface, or the other way around.

Their mood darkens at the thought. How could they allow themselves to be such a hypocrite. They wonder if Umbra knows that yet. One day he’d figure it all out, and leave in disgust at the fact that his Operator was only pretending to be brave. That they were afraid.  

After  _everything_  they had told him to release him from his mind’s torment, they could not heed their own advice. They couldn’t let go of the memories, or the past, or what they both meant. It sickens them, knowing the extent of their own weakness.

But then again...on days where they hear  _its_  voice and  _its_  familiar greeting, and where they see its silhouette, they begin to remember  _why_  they’re so on edge. Where that ghost is, unwanted memories follow. How could they let go of Umbra’s memories when it was there to remind them of it?Sometimes, it even asked about Isaah, and what they remembered. 

Thankfully, most of the time they stop simply because they begin to fall asleep, to which Umbra always rouses them from their trance to go and rest properly, before they completely topple over. It was embarrassing at first, but both have gotten used to it and Umbra has never taken offense. The Operator is lucky in that regard.

They just always seem to fall asleep so quickly in their true form. It’s almost unnatural. They suppose it’s all the more reason to stay within their warframe whenever they weren’t aboard the Liset or taking a quick break. Or living with a sentient warframe who they sometimes meditate with.     

Umbra makes a small strained noise, still waiting for a response.

The Operator finally nods at him in silent understanding before re-settling into position. They’ll see how it goes today. Both adjust so that they’re facing each other. They close their eyes, in an attempt to drown out everything that surrounds them. The quiet, when shared between the two of them, was no longer unbearable, but comfortable, and...right. Like it’s meant to be that way.  

It goes like that for only a few minutes before Umbra shuffles ever so slightly. He never makes such innocuous noises. Unless he meant for someone to hear.  

The Operator cracks an eye open, only to see Umbra’s outstretched hand. He offers it to them with an unreadable look.  _Well this is different_. Their eyes flicker up at that impenetrable mask. They reach out with their right hand, hesitating only inches before their fingers meet.

But Umbra is deceptively gentle. He takes their hand slowly, and with his remaining hand covers the Operator’s with his own. In a heartbeat, it all begins.

                                                           

* * *

 

Umbra’s energy seizes their mind and body faster than they can register what’s happening to them. All they can feel is a phantom grip on their soul. It brings them into darkness, to a hollow and distant abyss. They will themselves not to be afraid, but the silence threatens to drive them to the brink of insanity and off into the void. The Void. Is that what this emptiness is? It is beckoning them closer. Their heart drops in an instant.

They want to stop now. The Operator tries to pull away. Umbra, sensing their fear,  tightens his grip on their hand in reassurance. He’s here. He’s still here. Do not be afraid. The warmth from Umbra’s hand over theirs keeps them grounded enough to be able to discern the first rays of yellow light. It begins to fill the darkness behind their closed eyelids, gently flooding their vision with luminescence.

They’ve...felt this before. Back when they had performed transference on Umbra and accessed those torturous final moments, replaying over and over again, all in the name of Ballas’ sadistic sense of “justice.” Back when their memories had become one and the same. Only this time, Umbra is willingly sharing a part of him and his memories. But why here? And why now?

All is quiet. Umbra’s memory is only gently lit, with no real images. A few notes suddenly manifest from nowhere. That noise...they’ve heard that before too. Have they?

The Operator’s breath goes still at the distinct, but muted sound of a shawzin reaching their ears: the origin of those first few notes. After a few moments, it begins to play a proper melody.      

They’ve never heard the song that the strings are currently giving life to. Yet it’s so intensely familiar. Like they’ve played this melody before, and often at that. So often that their fingers could pluck the notes from memory alone. They exhale in awe at the feeling.

And that’s when the humming begins: the deeply soothing voice of a man within the memory, humming along with the strings, as if nothing was wrong. As if nothing could ever go wrong so long as he kept the song alive.

The Operator half knows and half wonders if that voice belonged to the Dax soldier that would become Umbra.

The voice begins to sing, but like a dream the details and words are hazy. The memory comprises only of sound. There is light but no people and no scenery. Only music. And even within the sounds the Operator is barely able to make out the words despite the lyrics clearly intelligible contents. They are at peace with listening to the sound alone. That serenity is broken only briefly by the simple and sweet laughter of what sounds like a young child. 

One of  _his_  children.

The Operator brutally bites down on their lip to keep the sudden and inexplicable wave of grief from tearing them out of this dream.

They are barely able to keep calm when the man gives an amused chuckle in response to the child. They release a shaky, uncertain, but happy breath. From there on out it is only the drifting melody of the song, the humming, the singing, and the shawzin that remains. Smiles from Juran. The name of the song manifests within their own memory. Had they known it all this time? Yes, that’s right. They faintly remember Isaah talking about this just moments before he died. This is what he must have grown up listening to. The Operator lets Umbra’s soothing memory pacify their soul.

Before they know it, they’ve drifted off into sleep to the sound of humming.  

                                                       

* * *

 

Five days have passed since Umbra’s shared the memory. How much did it take him to remember something _outside_ of his dying moments? The Operator wonders if it takes even more for him to hold onto it, to desperately guard the memory with his entire being. To try and keep it forever. They take a deep breath.

In the comfort of their quarters, the Operator begins to hum, giving life to a familiar tune.

And from a respectful distance away, Umbra hears them. The Operator knows he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied to you all. First I said that it'd be a while before this chapter would be posted, and then I somehow finish it within a few days. Then I said I was considering Teshin as the next space dad, but here's another Umbra. (Teshin's chapter is still a WIP) My bad. 
> 
> Anyways here's some fun extras that I wasn't able to get into the fic but wanted to share anyways:  
> \- The song the Operator hums but doesn't know the name of in the 2nd paragraph was a song their mother used to song to  
> them as a child. They simply don't remember the origin.  
> \- My belief is that Umbra only has very few, vague original memories outside of his final moments. It takes an immense  
> amount of willpower and focus to try and recall anything else. But it helps if there's a catalyst, such as the Operator's  
> humming.  
> \- Idk the mechanics of how Umbra is able to share the memory I made everything up lol. It's based on  
> the scene in The Sacrifice where Umbra has the Operator pinned to the wall and they touch his arm, launching them into  
> his memory.
> 
> Next up, probably Teshin. Thanks for reading!


	5. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sparring session between the Operator and Teshin devolves into a battle with the past and all of the anger that follows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE YOU READY FOR SOME OOC TESHIN???
> 
> Warning this chapter is quite long and angsty in my opinion. (A bit longer than A Glitch from the Void) If you've had your fill of angst feel free to skip this one.

“Shall we begin?”

They always precede the match with a solemn, but shallow bow: an old and near mandatory custom, most commonly performed by Dax soldiers, and one that the Tenno have also laid claim to. How fitting that a Tenno and a Dax should use them now.  

Teshin easily mirrors the Operator’s gesture, only his is a deeper, and somehow more refined gesture than theirs could ever be. It must be the years of practice and discipline, so ingrained into his bones that without it he would cease to exist. It simply wouldn’t be him anymore.

It’s the Operator who strikes first. Umbra lends his body to them, and it is both of their minds in tandem that create the will to fight. To win. Deep down the Operator feels a faint flicker of recognition coming from Umbra. The fact that he and Teshin share a common background doesn’t go unnoticed. That must be the explanation for the odd sense of kinship they’re feeling. Or is it mostly coming from Umbra? They’re not all too sure. It’s _definitely_ the source of the wildly competitive urge scrambling their nerves though. As if Umbra is simply dying to see who the better swordsman is.

They almost scoff at the thought of their stoic Umbra so gleeful and eager to compete. He’s not so much “eager” as he is determined. It’s overwhelming.

They silently urge Umbra to calm down, lest he upset their intense focus with his own and cause them to stumble during the match. Umbra doesn’t need to be talked down to, and within half a second the Operator is back in full control, rushing forward and slashing at Teshin in a wide arc.

Of course he expects it. Of course he does. He sweeps himself backwards with ease, dodging the blade with practiced precision. The Operator, wasting no time, raises their own sword back up again without missing a beat. They bring their weapon down as they close the gap between them.

Teshin doesn’t move so much as he simply “phases” from one state to the next. He blocks the blow with his own blade so quickly that the Operator can barely recall even seeing him raise his arm to counter them. The sharp and resounding note of metal on metal echoes through the room as the blades connect. Teshin shoves them backward.

And just like that it is a frenzy of trading attacks, dodging blows, parrying them whenever either of them could. They nearly take turns going on the offensive. Teshin allows them to sneak in a few flourishes and swipes here and there, silently evaluating their technique. He isn’t at all displeased. But with his impassive look, it makes no difference.

Bringing the blade down once more, the Operator locks their swords together in a shower of sparks.

Teshin is very rarely surprised. But it is this Tenno who surprises him the most. From their return to the Kuva Fortress, just for his sake, to their quiet surrender of the Kuva vial. He remembers the dark look in their eyes only moments after they had handed him the scarlet container on that snowy mountain. As if something had taken over. Was it a lingering regret? Did they regret giving it to him, thinking that they should have taken full advantage of its power?

He had taken them out of their stupor with only a light grip on their arm. What they said afterwards contained no hint of remorse or hesitance:

“The kuva has no place with me.” They had said, with barely contained disgust. “Your freedom is your own again. Take it.”  

Teshin had always known that they were a strange, complex thing. One that he has yet to fully understand. But he’s grateful to them, regardless.  Pushing against the Tenno’s sword with his own, he feels the tightness loosen ever so slightly. It brings him entirely back to the matter at hand.

Suddenly, an even greater amount of pressure removes itself from where their blades meet. The sword slip out of its iron lock.

He doesn’t know how he’s allowed it to happen a second time, but again, the Tenno has no shortage of surprises in their tiny figure and metal warframe. They dash backwards, breaking their swords’ embrace and staggering him. With a motion that is half an elegant technique and half brute force, they reconnect their blades and disarm him with a flourish.

The weapon goes soaring from his hands, clattering obnoxiously as it lands on the floor. He watches it all as if it’s happening in slow motion. Teshin spares a glance at his lost sword, and then back at the Tenno only to find the tip of their blade, leveled at his head.

They sheath their sword in one fluid movement.

“Teshin. Your age is starting to show.” They say.

He summons the weapon back into his grip and it flies to him. Both of them could do without a reminder of the last time this very thing happened, albeit in a more...angry fashion.

“You have _already_ bested me in combat once, pupil. Perhaps it is more a testament to your ability than it has to do with your opponent.”

The Operator visibly perks up at the rare, concealed compliment. Now they _know_ he’s gone senile. Or maybe he’s just being defensive about being called old in his own, Teshin-y way.

“You’ve demonstrated skill with a blade, and all can bear witness to it.” He says, sheathing his own weapon.

The Operator patiently waits for part two.

“But those who satisfy themselves with a single virtue will be the first to fall. So long as you are a pupil of the Conclave, you will continue to grow.”

There it is. This is leading up to something, they know.

“If you’re able to, can you please speak plainly with me. I’m really not sharp enough for riddles or hidden meanings or whatever it is you’re trying to hint at.” They joke.

“Ah, a rare show of humility from one so stubborn. You are making progress.”

The Operator would narrow their eyes at him if they could. That’s not what they had meant and he knows it. Regardless, Teshin just barely gives in, if it could even be called that, and says it to them straight.

“You may be skilled with a blade, Tenno, but now it is your time to tend to your weaknesses. There’s much improvement to be had with your staff work.”

Staffs and staves required an entirely different approach and skillset, as opposed to the blades the Operator so dearly attached themselves to. They refrain from outright whining. As much as they can enjoy being an absolute brat to him and Ordis, and...and...a lot of people now that they think about it...they don’t deny that he deserves at least some respect. BUT what comes out next is _still_ toeing the line between a complaint and a dry remark. They tried.

“Teshin, that was one time. You saw me botch that match once. I know I failed.”

 “And is it any wonder why, with your inexperience with the staff? Do not be complacent, young one. One day you will reclaim that victory but first you must begin at the first step.”

 Staff training.

 The Operator is starting to think that all this is because they called him old. They wrack their brain for reasons to disagree but they find none. It’d be a disgrace to both of their dignities and honor if they _had_ found one. They straighten themselves up, giving him another bow to excuse themselves.

After all, they must go and retrieve the _only_ staff they actually owned, now that they had sold the one used in that duel that Teshin just _happened_ to be there for. The Operator’s fist tightens into a ball as soon as they are far enough away. Their arsenal only had the one staff now.

They had never wanted to use it, that broken scepter. 

Teshin watches them go, knowing that they’ll return.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes an oddly long time for the Operator to come back to him, though Teshin is sure that they would never leave in such an abrupt manner. When they do come silently slinking in, they bear a familiar looking weapon in their hand. Teshin has his own staff in hand, and he had been examining it before they came in.

The approaching figure come closer and closer. Before he ever sees their staff of choice in detail, he sees them.

Even tucked within the shell of their black and gold-clad warframe they regard the broken scepter with a look of disgust. They finally turn to look at him with...caution? Curiosity? The moment lasts for longer than either are comfortable with.

And that’s when he finally sees it, the broken kuva scepter, a weapon that was once wielded against him, one that once belonged to the Grineer Queen. He doesn’t so much as say a word, and though he recognizes the weapon he remains as neutral as ever.

The Operator remains quiet, though he hasn’t said a word to them, as if he’d ever make any discomfort known. In fact, he hasn’t even given a hint of disdain for that former symbol of his forced oath. But it hasn’t stopped them from acting wary.

He regards the weapon in their hand for longer than he truly means to. Instinctually, his mind recalls exactly how it had looked in the hands of the Grineer Queen. How it sounded when she impatiently but commandingly rapped it the floor. How she had used it to command him to kill his own pupil.

He banishes the thought from his mind. They had already won that battle. He could not care less for it and he feels _nothing_ when he sees it. The Operator would do well to realize that.

But they’ve already retreated into their own shell, suffering from thats silent spell whenever something weighed too heavy on their mind. An open book, that’s what they are. Teshin can see it. They are their own worst enemy, and their thoughts the most dangerous weapon they could ever wield against themselves.

They shift, taking a stiff but ready position, like a hollow soldier awaiting orders. His frown barely deepens at this, but it is perceptible enough.

He mimics their steadfast posture and bows deeply. Perhaps a brief sparring match will allow them to forget of their overreacting thoughts before the real training begins. But Teshin already knows that he is wrong. Sparring with a clouded mind?

He knows how it will end.

He thought he knew how it was going to end.

Before he had even recovered from his bow, the blood red blade was already at his neck. He makes the mistake of letting loose a _barely_ audible noise and reeling back in self defense, staff at the ready. The movement is quick with an unmistakable air of alarm to it, so unlike him, the last Dax soldier in the system, prepared for anything and everything.

One would think he wouldn’t be so taken off guard, given that the cruel and jagged edge was not an uncommon sight. The Tenno has already seen all they needed to from him. They’ve made up their mind. Teshin can only look at them for so long before grimly turning away, his staff at his side once more.

Back on the Kuva Fortress he had been ready to allow that same scepter to strike him down, all to give the Tenno a chance to escape. Yet they returned.  Even when he had been ready to die.

Teshin suppresses a scowl. It’s unwise to linger so much on the past. He’s showing weakness by even taking this long to recover himself and rid his mind of unneeded memories. Is it shame that keeps his glance downcast, glued to the floor?

The Operator withdraws the weapon, giving it a few spins, as if they were winding up to strike in earnest. Teshin prepares himself, his full attention back on the match. But the Operator spins it so that the bladed end is facing down. With all of their strength they plunge it into the floor. The sheer force allows the blade to bury itself within the floor’s hardy material.

“I’m sorry, Teshin.” They say. “Maybe it doesn’t bother you as much as it does for me.”

They’re selfish like that. They draw Umbra’s exalted blade:

“But I cannot _stand_ to hold the same instrument that was used to enslave you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Tenno.” He warns. “Do not lose yourself to recklessness.”

He says the words but perhaps if he truly meant them, he’d have actually stopped them. The sword goes through the staff twice, at different heights, in a show of great brutality. They hack until the staff is broken into three useless pieces. They land individually with a dull thud on an already battered floor. It’s over so quickly. The crescendo of emotion and anger and irrationality all over with nothing but a broken scepter. A scepter that was already broken to begin with.

“I’m sorry.” They apologize once more, softly but without regret. The Operator leaves much of it unspoken. “The Queens…”

“-mean nothing now. It is finished.” He says.

“They used you. Used _us_ .” The Operator scoffs. “The Orokin used _everyone_. Don’t you hate that?”

The Operator, for all their snide remarks at him, cannot deny caring. And it appalls them how they had reduced Teshin of all people to a sentient puppet on a string. Teshin _and_ Umbra.

For his part, he’d be lying if he said he did not despise working under the Twin Queens. But the Queens are one thing, the Orokin as a whole, another. It matters little.

“You misunderstand.” Teshin replies. “ _I_ do not regret my early days in the Orokin Empire. But we failed them, long ago. All that matters now is preserving the better part of what the Orokin left behind: the Tenno.”

The Operator is not quite satisfied with the answer.

“Pupil.”

They look up at him, broody and recovering from the fit of frustration and anger, and somehow he knows that not all of that anger was entirely their own.

“You have already freed me from their thrall. And I am grateful for that.”

They must allow themselves the victory. That fight is over. Though perhaps, no battle is ever over for them. Teshin ponders that with no small amount of melancholy.

The Tenno makes no noise, no argument, after that. As the two look over the broken remains of the kuva scepter a sense of tranquility slowly overtakes the stifling anger from before, until it is just silence. Teshin would never say it, but he had never been more glad to see that scepter. Its current state made it all the more better in his eyes. His attention turns from the useless weapon to the Tenno.

He no longer feels anything towards the staff, or what it had once meant. And both can acknowledge that the Tenno’s display might have been a reckless, needless one, yes, but...

He does not regret letting them destroy it.

The only matter left is to retrieve another staff. Both of them are surprisingly eager to resume the training the Operator so desperately needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (NOW you may be wondering why the Operator didn't just borrow any old staff from the conclave and the answer is I'm a dumbass and I didn't think about that until I finished writing the whole thing. Does Teshin have spare weapons laying around? Idk) 
> 
> Anyways, Teshin is in denial about emotions, the Operator is overly dramatic and frustrated, and it's heavy tiresome stuff. This chapter was also written with Umbra's own sentience and thoughts in mind and how it might influence the Operator, so he's in there angsting too. Everybody is just super stressed man... 
> 
> But the next chapters will likely be more fun and lighthearted to balance it all out! I've had my fill of Operator angst.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, bookmarking, leaving kudos, comments, etc. I greatly appreciate all feedback you've given! <3


	6. A Cephalon's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the Eros Heart Ornament, there was another. Ordis is still sulking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VALENTINES DAY CHAPTER Y'ALL
> 
> So on Warframe's website for Heart of the Ordis there's this treasure of a paragraph from Ordis:
> 
> “Operator, as is the custom, allow me to join in the celebration of the heart! Appreciating the cardiovascular system which facilitates your continued existence is a very worthwhile celebration. Happy Heart of the Lotus Ordis! Oh? What’s that? Hmmm…..how strange. Cephalon Suda just communicated to me that the holiday is more sentimental than biological. That seems misplaced. Ordis will never understand your strange celebrations, Operator.”
> 
> It then mentions that Ordis messed up the decorations so OF COURSE I HAD TO RUN WITH THIS. This is a DIFFERENT take on how Ordis found out about the true nature of the Heart of the Lotus. <3

 

* * *

 

“Ordis...why.”

The Operator holds the holo sculpture in their arms. Ordis had been eager to show it off the second the foundry had finished putting it together, calling his Operator over to inspect the festive decor. He had hoped that it would please them, but, judging from their tone their reception seems...mixed.

“It’s for the celebration, of course. What do you think of it?” He beams. “Ordis made sure to include every little detail, and it is quite accurate to human biology.”

“I can see that.”

“I thought, perhaps you’d like something to spruce up your personal quarters, what with it being a holiday and all. And I know how much you adore Tennobaum decorations.”

“Ordis, this is an anatomically accurate heart. You’ve replicated an actual organ.” They reply. There’a a beat of silence, followed by a faint burst of static. 

“－ **_just say you don’t like it, Operator_ ** －”

“No, it’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just, you’ve made _a heart_.”

“I am not understanding you. Is that not the point?”

Are they not celebrating the cardiovascular system?

The Operator only sets the sculpture back down with a barely suppressed laugh, the heart hologram flickering upon impact with the foundry table. Both of them feel a rush of alarm, for different reasons, when an unflattering choking noise rushes out of the Operator’s throat, giving away their failure to keep their laughter in check. Are they dying, Ordis wonders?

“The Heart of the Lotus celebration was－” They stop to correct themselves. Looks like the Tenno will need a new name for the holiday. “－ _is_ , more symbolic and less…”

They gesture to the floating, red organ hovering above its polished pedestal.

“...literal. It’s about expressing love for one another. Your heart is a bit...realistic looking..”

The Operator can practically feel the Cephalon’s confusion radiate throughout the ship, his perplexity rendering him speechless. They're glad that their warframe conceals their wide grin. It'd only make it worse. The quiet stretches on and on.

In fact, Ordis remains _so_ silent that the Operator almost fears they’ve broken the Cephalon’s poor, symbolic heart, and that he would never again speak to them. When he pipes up again it’s a sheepish whisper, as if he were saying something taboo and forbidden.

“I’m sorry, Operator. I’m sure the Lotus would have known this better than I.”

They don’t miss a beat. A photo-realistic heart sculpture and an innocent misunderstanding is _not_ going to put a damper on their Cephalon’s mood. Not if they had anything to do with it.

“Well she’s not here.”  A gentle smile lights up their hidden face. He can hear it in their voice.  “But you are. Despite everything.”

“... _Always_.” They don’t know if it’s some form of affectionate annoyance or plain indignation that makes him say it that way, like it’s a simple fact, an obvious and steadfast truth that could never be changed. The Operator’s casual nod says it all: I know, I know. Before he can say anything else, the sculpture is back in his Operator’s hands and they’re making their way to their quarters, but not without giving the resting wyrm sentinel a few knocks.

“And since you _are_ here, you’re going to come help me string up the lights.”     

Assuming control of the wyrm, Ordis brings it out of its bay and sullenly trails behind them as they enter the artificial comfort of their own “room”. Even with their true self being shut up in the transference pod their more traditional quarters are growing on them They scan their surroundings until they find what they’re looking for. And there it is.

There’s garlands of red and pink lights coiled inside a box: leftovers from previous celebrations, back when the Lotus was around and Ordis less prominent as a result. The Operator wonders if he still feels that same neglect from them whenever they were away on a mission.

They’re trying their best to make up for it.

The time passes by in relative silence, with Ordis lifting up the garlands of light to whatever height the Operator finds most pleasing, and the two of them working together to create a warm and lovely space for the Operator to simply look at. Ordis almost doesn’t see where they’ve put his failed sculpture, until the Operator turns to look at it, admiring it with no small amount of amusement. On the table with the somachord, the heart rests, glowing in tandem with all the reds and pinks from the string lights. The room is bathed in too many different shades of the same color but neither seem to mind.

They crash into the seating that surrounds the somachord, reclining back into the cushions, satisfied.

“Oh, Operator, you don’t have to place it there to make me feel better.”  Ordis chides after a while, the wyrm aimlessly hovering above the offending decor. A random song, no doubt playing from the somachord starts playing, and perhaps that was the missing element. The room seems complete now, the atmosphere gaudy and pink but perfect all at once. “Operator did you hear me?”

They increase the song’s volume ever so slightly, but not enough to drown out any significant noise. It’s only a quiet drone, a white noise meant to lull someone to sleep.

“No.” The Operator replies. “Music’s too loud.”

“You’re hilarious.”

They snort in amusement before scooting over and patting the seat next to them. The wyrm plops down into the cushion, sinking ever so slightly, like a petulant child forced to obey a command. Its tail awkwardly wraps around itself, in an attempt to settle in, but every movement threatens to topple the sentinel over. The Operator reaches over, and for a moment he thinks they’re trying to help him balance and stay in place.

Instead, Ordis watches, seeing as he cannot feel, them wrap their arms around the wyrm in the midst of its struggles. He stills in their embrace. Is this customary for the holiday as well? He wonders. He wouldn’t mind getting used to it. Ordis is almost taken aback by how cute his Operator could be when the stress wasn’t eating away at them. Almost enough to let go of his heart sculpture mishap.

“The heart’s staying in here.”

Complete silence, save for the gentle and light music, resounds through the room as Ordis considers this.

“So...you _do_ like it?”

“Yes. I think it’s funny.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s acceptable then. I will not fail you next time, Operator.” He vows.

The Operator sighs in exasperation, releasing the wyrm.

“Ordis, it’s okay! It’s not a big deal. And it’s not all about the decor.”

“I am aware of that _now_ , but…out of curiosity.” He pauses. “What is it _supposed_ to look like?”

The Operator sighs again, deeper still, but obliges, making a heart shape with their warframe’s hands. “It’s supposed to look like this.”

“What is that.”

“A heart.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“ _Look_ , it’s complicated. But that’s what it looks like.” Bringing their hands to either side of the wyrm's "face", they rest their head against the sentinel, in a way that’s so aggressively affectionate it borders on humorous. And yes, maybe that’s just what he needs knock it out of his processor. A tiny amount of blunt force applied to his mechanical proxy, a force that he couldn’t even feel.

“Happy Heart of the Lotus, Ordis. Let it go.”

“Happy Heart of the Lotus.” He replies, defeated. “I would tell you that I love you, but I have the feeling that you already know.”  

They laugh at that.

But he isn’t done with the questions just yet, no, Ordis spends a long time pondering it all, and the longer he spends the more questions arise. He supposes that he could eventually come to accept it, somewhat. _Possibly_. But what’s the use, the Tenno have such strange celebrations, and he’s sure that there are even stranger ones. As soon as he could process this one, another would be sure to pop out of no where and throw him back into the depths of confusion. He had much research cut out for him. The glow of his heart catches his attention once more.

The faithful recreation hovers in front of them both, translucent and bright. It is a much more reasonable model in his eyes. He had spent a good deal of time and effort to form the aorta, map out the textures, and to even have it beat in silent synchronization with the real deal, only to lose out to whatever strange symbol the Operator had made with their hands.  And, oh, that reminds him:

“I included a button that allows you to see a cross section of the organ.”

They only stare at him.

“Would you like to see it?”

The Operator sucks in a breath, in deep contemplation, before releasing it in a deep exhale.

“I would, actually.” They admit, unable to contain their curiosity from possessing their senses. They suppose it’s their turn to be defeated. Besides, they don’t need to be scolding him any further.

Reaching forward to grab the holo sculpture, they nestle back into their seat with it in hand, allowing Ordis to give them a presentation on the structure of the human heart, until even that devolves into casual conversation, half affectionate and half teasing words, and a good-natured promise to try creating another heart soon, together this time.  

The Operator stares out the observation window, watching the vast expanse of empty colors fill their vision as Ordis goes on. _Finally_ , a moment’s rest with the their eternally faithful companion. It’s been too long.

They smile to themselves. The day tapers off to a quiet end, with Ordis’ heart still resting in their hands.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this is my first Heart of the Lotus so idk what it was like before. Was the Lotus more involved? Tell me in the comments!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Happy Heart of the Lotus/Ordis <3


	7. Same Old Tragedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conservation mission goes wrong, but out of this failure comes a surprise and a promise.
> 
> SEE CHAPTER NOTES PLEASE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: there's a very brief paragraph where an animal dies, along with some mention of blood. I consider it pretty short and not overly gore-y but if you'd like to skip it just go to the end of the first chunk (marked by the lines)!
> 
> Also warning for whiny, "I'm not a kid" Operator who can't deal with too much frustration or else they'll explode internally. But Biz is in here too so hopefully it makes up for angry teen Operator. There's tragedy in the title but this one is not uber angsty I promise.

 

* * *

 

They’ve never seen anything quite so ugly, though the Grineer are a very,  _very_  close second.

The Operator pauses. Or maybe it’s the Infested.

But still this thing was just…different. The Infested and the Grineer were the result of artificial mutations. Their bodies were forcefully manufactured, rearranged and then spit out, with the final product being nothing but obedient flesh with violence as its only instinct. Parasites, clones, it made no difference what they were. The two were both born to fester, kill, and increase their numbers, keeping up the same industrious pace until something came along to end the cycle.

This bolarola was just born looking like  _that_.

“What a marvelous looking fellow. Quite unusual. I trust you’ll bring it in safely?”  Biz says, his voice barely audible from their comm. “We’ll take a better look at it up close.”

From their faraway perch they watch it anxiously pop its head out, scanning the horizons for something unknown. The Business doesn’t expect a response but still they make an affirmative noise in acknowledgment. The Operator readies the tranq.  

This bolarola was a lucky find. No need to pull out any equipment or call for it. Hell, they weren’t even following any footprints, nor were they looking to bring a critter in to Biz today. But as soon as they had spotted it and it’s “unusual” (as Biz had put it) visage, they let him know to ready the transportation.  

This is as close as they could get to it.  Any closer and the Operator is sure they’d have scared it away, what with its current state of distress and its hyper vigilance. They could barely get a clear shot without it slipping in and out of sight. Suddenly, its head stays up five seconds longer than before, fiercely pointed in a direction, straining to hear more. It bristles at something in the distance. All of the tension from before dissipates, giving way to…aggression?

The Operator is almost taken aback when they emerge from the ground fully, stalking an unseen threat. Not typical behavior for bolarolas, they note. Experience has taught them that much. Maybe it’s hunting for food. Why else would it act so predatory? It produces a furious screech that echoes throughout the Orb Vallis, one that suddenly brings the Operator to their feet.

They take a few cautious steps forward, straining to hear.

After half a second, its scream is met with the distant noise of Corpus chatter, rapidly growing closer and angrier in response to the creature’s own call to violence.

In their scope they spot a small party of Corpus soldiers on patrol, or at least they were on patrol, until they had stumbled onto the bolarola’s territory. The Operator curses under their breath, stowing away the tranq and leaping down from their perch.  

“Outworlder, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  They reply before cutting off the feed entirely.

The bolarola, now just a medium-sized speck without the scope, shrivels up briefly in preparation to tuck into defensive mode. They don’t know why it brings a relieved smile to their hidden face.

“That’s it. Roll away, little guy.” They say to themselves, sprinting towards the scene. It’s not even that little. In fact, it’s kind of large and puffy which isn’t that uncommon for their species. Probably the distance distorting their perception of size.

They fire a couple rounds into the air in an attempt to frighten it away from the soldiers. Send it running somewhere else. After all, both Biz and the Operator would rather have an escaped creature than a dead one.

But it never flees. The stubborn thing doesn’t even hear them. Instead it charges full force at the Corpus on some sort of suicidal and instinctive whim. Their heart drops instantaneously. They’re sure their warframe can feel it too because their energy shifts in response to the Operator’s sudden and steep change in emotion, the two always remaining in sync with the other, balancing when one falters. The subtle change picks the Operator right up again and reminds them of the current situation.

They pick up their speed, practically flying towards the bolarola with all the precision and skill that their warframe lends them in maneuvering the snowy terrain. The creature begins readying for a fight in earnest and it is already closing the distance between itself and the soldiers.

“  _No, no, no_.”

The Operator opens fire from a hopeless distance with a weapon not suited to long range combat as they sprint. The sound of bullets aimlessly whizzing by catches some of the Corpus’ attention. The creature by now has launched its own full assault on the soldiers. It’s a mere nuisance, a distraction to them in comparison to the threat the Operator poses. This isn’t right. The bolarola was never meant to attack, only to run away and defend itself. All it’s got are its size and digging claws working in its favor.

By the time the Operator has arrived the majority of the Corpus have locked their attention to them, shooting and shouting. Only one is incapacitated, the one the bolarola has chosen to direct its own attentions to. It uses its weight to leap up and knock the soldier flat on his back. He lets out a shout, struggling uselessly and pinned down by the large creature. His attempts to dislodge his arm throws snow everywhere.

The Operator is too occupied returning fire with the enemy but out of the corner of their vision they see it unfold.

The bolarola raises one great claw, swooping it up in preparation to slash its victim.

In the countdown before the creature lands the blow, the pinned Corpus manages to press his weapon to the creature’s belly.

He fires. And fires.

The vicious attack never comes down, instead all the Operator hears is a strangled cry, a sickeningly wet noise, and the muted thud of the bolarola’s body falling limply on top of the soldier’s. A red flower begins blooming from the corpse, the center crimson and the edges pink with flecks of color scattered haphazardly around. The fluids leak onto the soldier and finally onto the snow, staining it.

He pushes the thing off him with ill regard, turning to face the Operator who is burning with too much hate to care happens next. Not when they already know how this fight is going to end.

The Operator leaves no one standing after that.  

 

                                             

* * *

 

They’ve been in a lot of fights. This one was by no means large or significant or difficult but they feel as if they had just come home from a long-standing war, defeated. The residual frustration and anger is still boiling away inside them, scrambling their senses. Their very own void energy, dark and tumultuous, is intertwined with their warframe’s and they swear it’s almost too much buzzing inside them. A strained sigh escapes them like hot air hissing out a vent.

They screwed up.

The Operator spares a glance at the bolarola’s corpse. It’s just as odd looking in death as it was in life. They let out a breathless laugh at that, a laugh that contained no trace of humor.

“Sorry, little guy.” They say out loud to the fallen creature as if it would make it all better.

They screwed up, and it’s in their nature to linger on their various failures but they can’t afford to. Not right now. They just need to pick themselves up, get back to Fortuna, and use that leftover turmoil on something productive. A mission, perhaps. Save the brooding for when they’re alone.

The comm flashes and beeps wildly.

Biz.

The Operator briefly considers ignoring him until they’ve collected themselves. Another sigh slips out. No need to worry him like that.

They reconnect to the Solaris United’s private channel. It takes a brief moment for the connection to clear up but Biz doesn’t wait for it to clear to begin speaking. His voice is full of static.

“What–happened..are…alright–?” Are the bits the Operator is able to make out. They don’t say anything. The static settles down while Biz’s concern heightens in an inverse relationship.  

“No…not really. It’s dead, Biz. It’s…I–”

They take a deep breath to stop and plan their words, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. Okay. They’ve got it now:

What comes out next is an almost incoherent string of half-sentences, tainted by frustration and their own inability to fully clear their head. When their voice crescendos to a slightly louder volume than before, they hear Biz’s voice again, clear as day and always conveying some meaning when the Operator fails to do either.

“Slow down. Let’s start from the beginning.” He prompts. The Operator stifles an irritated noise.

They fall into a cycle. He listens, says a few words to defuse the Operator and make sense of what had unfolded, and then starts over.

“It just ran out and attacked them, unprovoked. A  _bolarola_  . It’s dead.” They’re finally able to say.

Biz is silent on the other end. The quiet practically invites their emotions to bubble over again. And so throwing their hands up, the Operator gestures to the area around them.  

“I should have scouted out the area first or at least tranqed it right away. This could have ended differently!” They grate out, eyeing the bloodied bolarola. Why are they so upset? Their volume raises again on the start of the sentence but there he is once more, hushing them.

“ _Shh, shh_. Easy, now.” Biz murmurs. “What’s done is done. No use in speculating about what could have been.”

The Operator almost grins at the gentle way he speaks, how he almost always speaks. They can imagine this being how he talks to the frightened and wounded creatures they bring in for him to treat. He doesn’t even sound angry. They’d have felt better if he had reprimanded them but the harsh words never come. Finally, he speaks up again in a tone that lets the Operator know that the conversation is coming to an end, or so they thought.

“I would ask you to turn in for the day, but there is something I’d like for you to do.”

“What is it?” They ask with rapt attention. A task for them to divert their energy to? They’re desperate for a change in subject.

“You said the bolarola was unusually aggressive. I have…a theory, if you will. Search the area.”

Their shoulders drop a little.

They prepare to ask for clarification, but no sooner had Biz finished speaking did the Operator spot two small creatures emerging slowly out of nowhere, approaching the fallen bolarola. They were near invisible as a result of their size, and an odd texture stretched over their not quite matured hide. Most telling however was their odd color: the beginning’s of their mother.

Where they are lime and lilac, the dead bolarola is a deeper green and purple.

There was no mistaking what they were and what had just happened to them.

The Operator would need Biz to send in that transportation after all.

 

                                             

* * *

 

“Ah. There you are.”

The Business hasn’t even turned around yet to confirm his suspicions. He just seems to sense that it is indeed them and somehow he’s always right. They can see that his hands are full, wrapped tight around a bundle: a rough towel, acting as a blanket. The Operator takes two steps forward. The working hours are over and nearly everyone has packed up for the day, all except Biz.

“I could use your help in one last task for today.” He says, idly and just barely rocking the contents of the blanket in a tiny swaying motion. Their arms are already open, awkwardly waiting to accept the two bundled baby bolarolas so that Biz could get other supplies out. When Biz transfers the blanket to them, they almost don’t notice the two little heads poking out of the blanket to stare at them with curious eyes. They smile, but all the bolarola’s see is an impassive, alien mask bearing down on them. They retreat back to the safety of the towel.

Their spines are not yet fully hardened but if the Operator had touched it in their true form it likely would have felt unpleasant and strange. It doesn’t stop them from a brushing their warframe’s hand in a crescent motion around the circumference of the animal’s small face.The gesture of affection seems to confuse it. It burrows even deeper to escape it.

“Surprisingly, they’ve calmed down quite a bit. If you hadn’t found them they’d have died out there. Motherless, and as nervous as they are.”

Biz eyes them with some measure of fondness, even if it is tinged with a little bit of sadness. They may not be able to return to the Vallis, being so young. No one has taught them anything of what it takes to survive out there. He has two syringes full of a white-colored nutrient in one fist and another blanket in the other. After a bit of shuffling, Biz has one wrapped up bolarola and the Operator has another along with a syringe. He goes about teaching them how to feed it  without spooking it, but there’s no need. The little thing is eager to eat and laps it all up.

Biz’s attentions shuffle from his own creature, to the Operator’s, and then to the Operator themselves, as if he were tending to all three at once and checking in from time to time.  The Operator breaks the silence with a barely muffled laugh. Biz shifts his gaze over, asking them a silent question with the simple act.

“They’re not even cute when they’re babies…” They explain. How is that possible? They set down the empty syringe and lightly drag a finger down the back of its spines. “Such an ugly thing.”  

Biz perks up at that, shooting them a scandalized look (albeit it with a robotic face in the way) before pulling his bolarola a little closer to his chest  (albeit with a rig in the way).

“Don’t listen to them, little one.” He tells the baby in a softened tone, lifting it to towards his face.

“It’s true, though.”

“Hush.”

No one talks after that until well after the babies are done eating and are on the verge of falling asleep. They speak in low voice, afraid to disturb the young ones from slumber. They’ve had a rough day, to say the least.

“Sorry about the mother, Biz. And…I didn’t mean to freak out on you either…so, uh, sorry about that too.”

For some reason, Biz chuckles at them, as if their sullenness amuses him. It silences them right away. But he isn’t mocking them, rather it serves as a comforting noise. They stop as if they have to listen to it, as if they need to hear that reassurance like their life depended on it.

“You forget I’ve trained Little Duck since she was a young girl. You’re very tame in comparison. But let’s keep that between us, hm?”

He re-adjusts his grip on the bolarola before speaking again.

“And though it is unfortunate to think about, if you  _had_  saved the mother we wouldn’t have known about her little ones until it was too late to return to them. In a way I suppose this is the better outcome. One life, for two others.” Biz sounds troubled, but the moment is brief. He frees up a hand and rests it on their elbow, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You did well, my friend. Don’t dwell on what went wrong.”

His voice is warm,  and it contains the patience of a man who has seen too much to lose it easily. “You’ve had enough for one day. So have these two.”

“Yeah.” They mutter. “I guess.”

The blanket softly vibrates and rustles as the bolarola chitters in its sleep. It draws a small laugh out of the duo. When the moving finally settles down he throws in his final piece:

“Take care of yourself, Outworlder.”

A hint of sternness laces his voice but that’s it. That was the reprimand the Operator had been hoping for. Yet there’s no harshness to it, instead it is overpowered by sincerity. They give him a tired smile in response.

“Trying to.”

The Business says nothing in response, gazing fondly, distantly, at the three beings placed in his charge. All three were victims of bad luck, grown up far too fast, and they’ll live out the rest of their lives suffering the consequences of that. It’s all the same old tragedies that Biz has had the misfortune of seeing a thousand times, all with different players. The Tenno in front of him is by no means unique, in this regard. But it matters little. Because as long as he’s around?

He’ll be looking out for them. Always. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes self-care is writing comfort fics about your fav telling you to calm down and be kind to yourself. Sometimes it's looking at pictures of baby animals. 
> 
> The title's one tragedy refers to losing a parental figure/loved one but its up for personal interpretation who the Operator lost. The Lotus? Their actual parents? YMMV depending on personal headcanons. (I always intended for the Operator to be kind of a blank slate for people to either do self inserts or stick in their OCs hence why they have no name and I never describe their face.)
> 
> Also it's been 10,000 years and I still haven't reached Old Mate thanks to college. :(
> 
> Anyways thanks for reading as always! Go drink some water.


End file.
